


Thomas Claims

by thelilnan



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Blow Jobs, Dirty Talk, Guilt, Humiliation, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Jealousy, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Pining, Resolved Sexual Tension, Spitroasting, Threesome, Threesome - M/M/M, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-25
Updated: 2016-04-25
Packaged: 2018-06-04 09:24:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6652228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelilnan/pseuds/thelilnan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What actually happened during that dinner?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thomas Claims

**Author's Note:**

> sorry eliza

A week later and Burr still couldn’t believe it.

Hamilton had, by some way or another, secured frankly unprecedented financial power and now could do whatever he liked with the country’s new national bank. Burr hadn’t seen him in the week since that dinner meeting and the subsequent gloating, supposedly because he was off drafting the new financial system. Eliza wasn’t around much either; not that Burr and the missus talked much. But where Eliza was, Hamilton could often be found, and neither of them had been stirring any local gossip.

Except, of course, in the mouth of the Secretary of State.

Jefferson was all too proud of his winnings in the negotiations, despite the fact that it was completely immaterial. Burr scoffed time and again when he reflected on this; Jefferson was so short-sighted it was a wonder he didn’t have to press his nose to parchment when he signed his name. But whatever made the Virginians in his party happy, Burr was fine with. Any open door he could find, right?

It was now a week later and Jefferson was still going on, at length, how the whole dinner was by his orchestration; how he was merciful in granting Hamilton his financial power, how clever he was and how he outfoxed that Creole bastard (Burr winced, every time.)

“… Just _desperate_ , frankly. Big, brown eyes and an open mouth, you know the type. He couldn’t keep his eyes off my breeches the entire night. Just pathetic.”

Burr stopped as he was walking by Jefferson’s office. What in the hell…?

“Well, between me and Madison, of course,” the pitchy, smug voice continued, “Poor thing looked like a bitch in heat; got it as much as one too, but I’m getting ahead of myself. We’re still tucking into the first course by this point but Hamilton is just _shifting_ the whole time, like he can’t get comfortable. Two guesses as to why.”

A laugh. Burr didn’t recognize it; probably one of Jefferson’s friends from out of town. He’d habitually invite old friends from Virginia or Paris or even Italy to come visit for a week, maybe more, as if he didn’t have other things to do. Life was just one big fête to Thomas Jefferson; a fact that routinely made Burr’s skin crawl, as it did now. He pressed his ear closer to the door of his colleague’s office and continued to listen to the horrid tale.

“Second course. Madison finally breaks the ice and begins talking about the matters at hand; the financial system, the capitol, so on. Hamilton acts like he’s listening, but I could tell he wasn’t. He had that fever heat; flushed cheeks, dark eyes. If it had been anyone else, I would’ve already had her petticoats up.”

“Ohh, now you’re puttin’ thoughts in my head.”

“Oh do go on.”

Uproarious laughter. Burr could now hear three distinct voices; Jefferson and his Virginian guests. Bile started to rise in his stomach and blood flush his cheeks, but if it was anger or scandalous arousal, Burr could not have said. He wanted to knock and stop Jefferson’s horrendous tale in its tracks, but he refrained. He waited.

“Anyway,” Jefferson giggled, the laughter finally subsiding, “Madison finishes his proposal, Hamilton responds, I offer my opinions, and so on. But he’s a little off the whole time, like something’s just bugging him. Nagging at his mind. It nagged at mine too, but as I got up to get some more water, I saw. And boy, did I _see_. Tent. Stain. The whole nine yards. It was as if someone had hexed him, I swear! And I knew that boy was a little more than just Washington’s right hand man but my God! He really is ready to give it up for anyone. Must be some kind of something about older, attractive men.”

Burr felt sick. He needed water. He needed to leave. He needed to burst in there and shove his fist down Jefferson’s throat so he’d shut the _fuck_ up already! But he stayed, he listened, and he tried not to retch. With every passing second, he grew to despise the sound of Jefferson’s voice. Had it always been so insufferably smug?

“First thing he does when he’s given the chance is drop to his knees. Of course, his words were going one way and his mouth going another, but I knew how much he’d been thinking about it. Lord knows he probably thought of it all the second we met, the harlot. You can tell that kind of enthusiasm when you see it and boy, I _saw_ it. Madison too, but he won’t say a word on it.”

“So he…?”

“Let’s just say his mouth is useful for more than just ranting after all.”

At this point, Burr physically repelled himself from the door, his hand over his mouth. He felt overheated, about to pass out, wanting to just forget. Then it occurred to him that this may not be the first time Jefferson had told his story. These might not be the first people to hear it. There were probably others in the world who had heard the sordid affair, who believed it, who saw Hamilton’s name in the paper and associated it with… _this_. 

Burr let out a shaky breath he didn’t know he’d been holding and braced his back against the wall opposite Jefferson’s door. A myriad of emotions surged through him; pain, embarrassment, betrayal, scorn, rage… jealousy… arousal… aching. He hugged himself tight when he realized he wasn’t entirely disgusted by the notions Jefferson put forth. Hamilton… prostrate… eager to please. These weren’t foreign ideas to Burr; they were guests of the night, when he was alone and often heady with drink. These thoughts would greet him warmly and haunt him until he was consumed by them and acted selfishly, pleasuring himself and gasping Hamilton’s Christian name. But these thoughts were shameful and only to be known by himself and God. Who was Jefferson to throw these most sacred images around so carelessly? An evil man, Burr decided (though he’d been suspecting this for a while now.) And God, he was still going on at length about how Hamilton had been so eager for _his_ length. Burr could hear his voice, muffled, through the thick mahogany of his office door, though the words were indistinct. The temptation of hearing more of this lurid tale taunted Burr until he relented and returned to his place at the door. His stomach felt hot and uneasy as his ear touched the cold wood. Jefferson’s voice returned.

“By this point, we’re on the floor. My hands in the boy’s hair, Madison’s on his hips, holding him still while he went to town. Meanwhile, Hamilton’s making these eager _bitch_ noises, cheeks red, eyes wet and looking up like something pathetic. I about lost it just then. _Almost_ did, I’ll admit, but I managed to reign it in. I had a decision to make then and there.”

Burr realized he wasn’t breathing. He took a staccato, noisy breath through his teeth, palms sweating as they braced against the cold wood of Jefferson’s office door.

“Where to come on him.”

Burr bit his hand. No. _No_.

“Madison finished up his own way, spilling into the boy. Let out the most pitiful sound too–Hamilton, not Madison. I could feel that finish rising in me again so I took his hair tightly in my fingers and really let him have it. Poor thing was snuffling and whining, tears in those beautiful brown eyes of his. It almost pained me to see him like that,” Jefferson paused and Burr nearly sobbed.

“ _Almost_.”

His heart was about to hammer out of his chest, Burr knew it. His face was hot, his breeches were tight, and he couldn’t breathe but in short, broken gasps. His fists were clenched so tightly he knew there would be deep indents left in his sweaty palms. He should leave. He should leave. He should have left long ago, long before this Virginian scum ever opened his trap about his friend; his _friend!_ Hamilton– _Alexander_ –was his friend! But God, how long had Burr had these thoughts and never admitted it to himself? He’d known the man for decades, lusted for him for the same, but never in his wildest fantasies would he believe that Alexander, the Tom Cat, the Ladies’ man, the Scottish flirt that he was, would ever lay with a man. Let alone _Thomas Jefferson_. But oh, Burr ached now at even the thought, even with disgust in the back of his throat and the pit of his stomach.

“I compromised,” Jefferson’s voice came back to him and Burr listened with sickening attention. God, he was so close and hadn’t even laid a hand upon himself, “I could feel it coming and pulled out, shooting in his mouth and over his face. That poor boy didn’t know what to do; just moaned and took it, lapping up every drop. I had to push him off me by the time it was over but he just wanted more.”

That nearly finished Burr off right there, in the hallway, ear pressed to the now warm wood of Jefferson’s office door. Alexander, bright eyed, flushed, with streaks of semen across his cheeks, his lips… Burr swallowed a desperate sound and pressed his cheek to the door. He would die there, surely. What an embarrassing display.

“So that’s it?” Jefferson’s company asked, clearly enraptured by the tale, though probably not as much as the Senator on the other side of the door.

“Not quite.”

Burr was about to scream.

“The boy had his own problem, of course. A harlot like him doesn’t just give all he has without being… affected. It looked nearly painful, with how red it was, so I took mercy upon him, being the generous soul I am.”

Laughter. Burr hated how much he sympathized with the hypothetical Hamilton.

“The second I lay a finger on him, the boy keened like a cat in heat. It didn’t take more than a few strokes before he made a mess of himself and the floor. Just had it polished, too. Real shame. But I tell you… he clearly hadn’t had a good release in a while. What a scene.”

Burr let out an audible moan and nearly punched himself in the mouth by how fast his hand flew to cover the sound. He missed. He was too late. There was silence on the other side of the wood and the only thing he could think was a running string of curses so long it’d turn him blue in the face if he were to vocalize it. Without another moment’s hesitation, Burr fled Jefferson’s office door, not wanting to know if the man or his company had heard him slip up.

He ran.

He ran so fast and so hard he couldn’t breathe by the time he touched his hand to a cool, painted front door; deep green and glossy, marking the owner as someone of notice. It wasn’t his own. Puffing and gasping, Burr beat his knuckles purple and blue on Hamilton’s door. It opened, thankfully revealing the man of the house. The rest was quiet and darkened, some rooms unlit in the setting sun. He must be alone. Burr stumbled in, grabbing at his coat.

“I-is it true??” Burr was grateful he didn’t actually throw up at the first words he managed to cough out. Hamilton, bewildered, stumbling back from the older man, sputtered as well.

“What?? Is what true?? Burr, what’s the matter?”

“Jeff–“ he gagged, bowing over, “Jefferson! Madison! Room… dinner.” God, his lungs were on fire. His stomach was churning. But still, his arousal made itself known, but not to Hamilton. Not yet. Should the man forget himself and pass a straying glance, Burr would be done. But he had to know the truth.

“What the hell are you talking about??” Hamilton demanded, slightly more exasperated.

Burr retched, coughed, and straightened himself. He lay a shaking hand on the Secretary’s shoulder, clad only in his waistcoat and shirt; it was a rare sight for someone who strictly dealt in official affairs with his longtime friend but it was familiar. Too familiar. Old lusts and new burned in Burr’s chest, alongside his gasping lungs.

“Jefferson,” he finally caught his breath, “Has been telling stories, Alexander.”

His Christian name. The immigrant straightened his posture.

“He’s telling people… I don’t know who… but he’s telling them awful things.”

“What is he telling them?” Hamilton’s voice was deeper than before. Alight with rage and wrath and indignation. Burr felt fear for a moment.

“He’s telling them the grounds of your compromise. The way he spins it, he got the better end of the deal,” Pause, “Madison too.”

“Burr just spit it out, what is he saying??”

How could he tell him.

How could he detail that night and tell Hamilton, his friend, his confidante, his enemy on more than one occasion, how he debased himself for the older men? How he became a whore for them, servicing them wantonly and with desperation? How the image of Hamilton’s semen-stained face, eyes bright and mouth open, was forever burned into Burr’s mind, despite the likelihood Jefferson was just spreading rumors?

But there was a chance…

He had to know. Heaven help him, he had to know.

“He said you sucked his cock.”

Hamilton didn’t respond. Burr felt anger, incredibly, in rendering him silent.

“Is it true?”

“… Burr…”

“Is it true, Alexander?”

Hamilton stopped him before he even thought about advancing. Hand covering his, eyes burning bright, Hamilton’s mouth twitched from its deep-set scowl.

“ _Yes_.”

There was a whirlwind of movement then. Burr crashed into Hamilton with the force of a hurricane, dragging him into a kiss that was more blood and teeth than lips and tongue. Hamilton dug his nails into Burr’s neck and arm, snarling like a beast into his mouth. But _fuck_ , it was good. Burr was breathless as soon as they connected, lightheaded as he felt Hamilton’s weight against his chest. The two stumbled across Hamilton’s living room until Burr had him pinned to the wall, legs against groins and mouths and hands roaming freely. Hamilton was making sounds, the likes of which Burr had never heard before but imagined they must’ve been what Jefferson had attempted to describe. The memory of Jefferson and Madison defiling Hamilton caused Burr to shudder and jut his hips against Hamilton’s leg.

“You did this for them,” Burr accused in a voice darker than he’d intended, “You… This.”

“No,” Hamilton gasped, head back. Burr’s lips were on his throat, sucking a deep bruise, “I never did this.”

“It’s close enough.”

“It’s not!” he ducked his head again and found Burr’s mouth, licking inside and moving his body in a way that nearly made Burr crumble to the ground. His hands, once clenched on Hamilton’s wrists, found their way to his hair and tangled in the thick locks. Hamilton moaned, hands digging into Burr’s back with such intensity that it broke Burr’s heart, just a bit.

“That was politics,” Hamilton promised against his lips, “This is important.”

“You’re a terrible liar,” Burr growled softly, wanting nothing more than to find Hamilton’s bed and keep him there for hours.

“Good thing I’m not lying.”

Burr’s patience waned instantaneously. He kissed Hamilton deeply, hands cupping his skull while Hamilton’s hips moved against his so perfectly, Burr would’ve sworn Hamilton had a secret profession aside from government. Doubtful, but possible. Deciding not to dwell on hypotheticals, Burr mustered his strength and picked up the smaller man in a blessedly graceful move that left Hamilton breathlessly surprised. He continued kissing Burr everywhere he could reach; lips, nose, cheeks, brow. Burr managed to walk the two of them to Hamilton’s bedroom and collapse onto his mattress with little more than a surprised laugh from the man he was carrying. His legs remained wrapped around Burr’s hips, tightening invitingly when his back connected to the softness of his duvet. Burr kissed him then, adjusting awkwardly at Hamilton’s wordless demands.

“Why,” Burr eventually murmured against Hamilton’s lips, coat finally flung across the room and waistcoat undone.

“I had to,” Hamilton simply replied, kissing his neck and chest, “This isn’t a job for reason and manners.”

Burr sighed, propping himself up over the younger man. He hated him then, as he had for a long time, though it was interrupted by long intervals of loving him. Hamilton’s hands continued to undress him, ignoring Burr’s meditation.

“Ruthless.”

“ _Passionate_.”

“Insane,” Burr looked down to the young man he’d met in the street decades ago, now middle aged and world-weary. The optimism and passion were there, of course, hidden in those tired eyes, but much had changed around him and so had changed him. Hamilton smiled then, bright as ever.

“You’re beautiful.”

Burr laughed, “You’re incorrigible.”

“I’m told it’s my best quality.”

“By whom?”

Hamilton shrugged, “People. Get back down here. I’ve waited long enough to kiss you and I’m impatient now.”

Burr obliged, sinking into Hamilton’s insistent kisses with relief. They explored each other lazily at first but soon passion overtook them and they were writhing together, half-naked and breathless. Hamilton was beautiful, flushed to his chest and gasping beneath Burr. Burr rutted against him desperately while kissing any part of him he could reach, claiming each spot as his own, trying to undo the damage that had been done to him. That thought was always in the back of his mind, even when Hamilton spoke soft, rushed sentences of praise and admiration into his ear. He couldn’t help but picture Jefferson and Madison defiling this man and Burr hated himself for it. Even as Hamilton wrapped his legs around him and gasped his Christian name, Burr was consumed with unappetizing thoughts of his name replaced with Thomas or James.

“Aaron!”

_Thomas_.

“Aaron…! Please!”

Burr dug a fist into the younger man’s hair and bit his neck hard enough to bruise. Hamilton cried out, hitting ineffectually at him and rolling his body into Burr’s. Fire in his veins, his heart hammering in his head, Burr thrusted and kissed and bit with every fiber of his being, throwing all of himself at this man who had confounded him, challenged him, and courted him through the many decades they had known each other. His body was growing hot, his muscles beginning to spasm out of his control, which terrified him minutely, but he saw Hamilton was much the same. He watched him lose control, head back and spine bowed in a tight arch, beautiful and pliant beneath him, begging breathlessly for more, crying out his Christian name, and Burr lost himself. The sight of Hamilton’s wet, open mouth, his eyes closed in bliss, his half-dressed body beneath him; Burr was utterly undone. With a noise that surprised himself, he bowed and came between them, messing both his and Hamilton’s stomach with his release. Hamilton himself was not far behind, but his pique was decidedly louder and messier than Burr’s. It would have been wrong if it were any other way.

“Aaron!!” He gasped, clinging to the man. Burr watched him with exhausted fascination, drinking in every detail of Hamilton’s ecstasy. His chest nearly caved in with the aching of his heart; he loved this man, more deeply than he’d ever admit to anyone. It ached and would continue to ache for a long time.

Hamilton was panting now, making pleased and tired grunts as he started to kiss Burr again with languish. Burr fell victim to these sleepy kisses, dragged down into the soft mattress and into the attractive musk of his colleague. Troubles and anxiety that normally plagued Burr’s mind fell silent in the presence of Hamilton’s amorous attentions and Burr, finally, felt at peace. Perhaps later he would be vexed at just what details of the Secretary’s story were true and false but for now, he was content to lie and be satisfied with Hamilton, even if only for the time being.

 

End.


End file.
